Broken Hearts, Broken Minds
by aphtrashbin
Summary: It's been 40 years since America's fall from power, and England seeks to restart relations with the ex-superpower. Except, he's grasping at straws- Alfred's already gone. USUK, dependent America


England watched him like he always did. He was hobbling in just about on time, looking down at his feet as he walked. Nobody greeted him, or even minded him, but that's what Arthur suspected happened to a nation that was quiet and unimposing. Funny how those two words, especially in conjunction, were ones he would never use to describe America?

But there he was, unnoticed, it seemed, by all but England.

America sat down, hunched over slightly. He stared at his hands, not looking at anyone. He didn't laugh, or joke, or even smile anymore. He didn't even talk unless explicitly spoken to either. But, as far as Arthur remembered, the fall from grace had been smooth. Alfred was fine. It didn't kill him. But, he couldn't remember it very well. It didn't bother him.

During England's presentation, his mind was oddly fixated on him. His brothers had finally all split up from him, and life at home was incredibly quiet, and dull. And lonely. He often missed the days where Alfred would come busting in, bustling with life and happiness and say something completely idiotic. It meant he was alive.

He had been emailing him the past month about getting together the week after the UN meeting, but never got a reply.

He was attempting to reopen relations with him.

However, what specifically distracted Arthur was that Alfred was making himself bleed.

England tried to get his attention, but America never looked his way, not once during the whole meeting, his eyes glossed over and his fingers starting to really make the blood drip down his face.

This was just…sad. Why was Alfred acting like this? Where were his stupid ideas, and cocky laughter?

He didn't know, but what he did know was that when Arthur chased him to the bathroom, Alfred seemed surprised that he was bleeding in the first place, but then, let Arthur bandage it and said it didn't matter

Arthur could barely watch this show of utter sadness, Alfred not being called to the meeting of the security council, instead, going back to his diplomats to be brought home.

Arthur played hooky on the meeting to go after him.

XXXXX

To say Alfred was shocked would be an overstatement, because there was nothing in his face when Arthur knocked on his door. Alfred barely seemed to care.

Arthur was invited to sit, and he noticed quickly that the place was a wreck, and Alfred didn't care about that either.

Alfred sat down on a small, uncomfortable looking armchair, and started to cut himself again, on his face, making him drip blood.

"Don't do that." Arthur said, instantly.

Alfred shrugged, passive. "Oh...that's alright."

"It's not," Arthur said quietly. "So be careful."

Alfred just started to do it on his hands, picking at fresh wounds. He looked at Arthur with dead blue eyes. Arthur eventually put his hand on top of Alfred's as he drank the tea Alfred had given him. "At least try not to while I'm here."

Alfred nodded slowly. He took his hands, and brought them into his chest. "Why...start talking again...?"

Arthur was quiet. "Because... well, do you want the official reason?"

He shrugged. "Want...real one?"

Arthur hesitated for a while. "...Because... I'm worried about you," he muttered.

Alfred shrugged again. His expression didn't change-hopeless, but otherwise blank.

Arthur sighed quietly. "I was worried about you. And I wanted to see you again. So I asked if I could try and reinitiate diplomatic relations..."

"Ban...is over..." He said, vaguely. "Could..."

"Ban? What ban?" Arthur reached out for his hand.

Alfred pulled back further. "Couldn't...take place...in international affairs...wouldn't let...me..."

"You...couldn't see me..." He mumbled. "No one...could..."

Arthur softened. "That's atrocious. Who did that?"

"You...and others..." He said, shrugging. "It was...your spell..."

Arthur stared at him, totally lost now. "Me? You know…you know I wouldn't do something like that."

"You also...made yourself forget...along with the others..." He looked at his hands. "Years...it's been longer now, think so..."

America had broken off relations about 40 years ago...but that was so...blurry. Why couldn't he remember what happened.

Arthur hesitated. "I... I really don't know what you're talking about. I'm sorry."

Alfred nodded. He shrugged once more. "Don't care. What do...you want?" He simply stared, no sign of life in him. Arthur would have to investigate Alfred's memories...his retelling was so vague.

"…I want to know what happened," he mumbled quietly. "What happened to make you like this."

Alfred shrugged again. "Fine." He lay down, without Arthur telling him to do so.

Arthur blinked. "What… are you doing?"

"You know... need to be laying down." He said, sighing. "Get it...done..."

Arthur stared at him. He had no idea what he was supposed to do.

"Memory spell..." He reminded him. "Looking into...the mind...

Arthur looked at him strangely. "Al-..." He caught himself. "I... I don't know any memory spells."

Alfred looked empty. "Yes, you did..." He sighed, sitting up. He got up, and hobbled away.

Arthur got up and stopped him. "If I do, I don't remember them," he muttered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Alfred froze there, unable to process what Arthur was doing. He looked down at him, eyes almost...sad.

Arthur held him there. "Can you remember... anything...?"

"Yes...all..." He muttered.

He didn't say anything, however.

"Then tell me," he said quietly. "Please?"

Alfred sat down again, sighing. "After...you did the spell...which... made me... Invisible..." He looked down. "Put ..."

Arthur shook his head. "Are you sure it was me?" he said. "Because in all my life, I've never known a spell that could do that..."

He stared at him, before he nodded slowly.

Arthur didn't know what to make of it. "Explain to me clearly what happened."

Alfred stared at him, before going back to picking at his face. He successfully made a cut, and it bled. "Easier... if seen..."

Alfred seemed to remember something, and got up, going to his bookshelf, and taking out a crumpled piece of paper. On it, in Arthur's handwriting, was indeed, a memory spell.

He lay down again, closing his eyes.

Arthur held it in his hands, confused. He read it over and over, but didn't remember anything of the sort-At any rate, the made the preparations.

Alfred closed his eyes, and once Arthur put his hands on Alfred's head, he was suddenly inside his memory. A cold, distant version of himself was talking with Alfred, who was in shackles, and gagged. "It's clear we can no longer trust you to deal in international affairs." Alfred desperately tried to make noise, only to be forcibly silenced by...France? His eyes were frightened, but alive. He closed his eyes, and Arthur started to say something quietly, along the lines of an apology, before he cast a spell on Alfred.

France looked shocked. "I...where'd he go...?"

England looked down. "He's still there, but invisible to us. Our human governments have asked us to hand him over to them... This spell will last 30 years...in the meantime, we have to forget about him."

Alfred was still sitting there, in bindings.

Arthur's eyes widened. He backed up. "W...what was that?" he said. "Why did..."

Humans came in, and dragged Alfred away, while England spoke. "This is a collective spell, we'll think he's still there, until that time we can see him." The Alfred in the memory was crying out for England while they took him away.

The gag got out of his mouth. "I loved you! You son of a bitch!" Then the scene changed, the memory getting distorted. Suddenly everything was white. Alfred was chained in place, staring at white everything. White food, white walls, white clothes, no sound. He struggled at first, but his descent into madness was clearly marked. Alfred, when the doors were finally open, didn't move or react. They laughed at him, and Alfred simply let them. He had long since stopped trying to interact with the guards. He was unchained, but didn't move. They had to force him outside.

Alfred had pushed his hands off sluggishly to cut off the memory.

Arthur looked shocked and confused. "Alfred? I don't understand. Why did that happen?" He was shaking. Somehow this had happened, and he had never even known. Or remembered.

Alfred shrugged again. "Dunno..."

Arthur reached out for him again. "I don't... I don't know why I would do that," he mumbled.

Alfred shrugged. He pulled back as Arthur tried to touch him.

So, the long and short of this dead Alfred was solitary confinement.

Arthur took his hands. "Alfred, I don't remember anything. At all."

Alfred flinched. He nodded. "That was…goal…"

He got up, pulling his hands away and holding himself tight.

Arthur looked at him hopelessly. He backed up and sat down across from Alfred, who shrugged quietly, pulling up his legs to his chest.

Arthur sighed. He got up and sat next to Alfred. "...I think I'm going to have to stay here for a while."

"Okay." He said, quiet and unimposing.

He leaned away from Arthur, unwilling to touch him.

"Do you have... a spare room...?"

He shook his head. "You can…have room…"

He got up, and gestured for Arthur to follow him.

Arthur did so, quietly staying a few feet behind.

Alfred showed him to the small room, it was a little messy, but otherwise…it looked untouched. It didn't look lived in at all. This didn't feel like a real house. This wasn't the house Arthur remembered, either.

Arthur looked to Alfred, as if examining his face. "...Did you move?" he asked. "I don't remember your house being like this."

"Sold…home…" He sighed. "Sold house…. they sold…" He muttered, closing his eyes. "Gave…this…"

Arthur was quiet. "Your old house?" In the past, when Arthur visited, he would always live with Alfred in that house. He knew every corner of it like the back of his hand. Or... at least he thought he did.

Alfred nodded, sighing. He showed Arthur something depressing then. He went over to the "Window" and then…peeled it off? "No…openings…can't...leave..."

Arthur's heart sank. "This is ridiculous. Who's keeping you here?"

Alfred looked to him, apathy clear in his entire demeanor. "The agreement nations made…did this."

"What agreement, though? Why?" Arthur looked strained.

"Punishment…of the United States…" He said, hollow, "For refusing to comply…with…world order…"

"What? But..." Arthur drifted off. "I don't remember anything like that. I mean, sure, you were kind of a meddler, but..."

He shrugged. "Doesn't…matter…"

He put the window back on the wall, going back out to the living room.

Arthur stood there for a while, and then sat down. He didn't know what to do anymore.

Alfred moved around like a zombie. It was scary to see one who was so alive become so aimless. He didn't have any purpose, and often forgot what he was doing halfway through it. He didn't have a stove, only a microwave, and sometimes ordered food, but mostly forgot to eat. He seemed to be hypersensitive at times, but otherwise…was incredibly lethargic and apathetic.

Arthur decided he would start taking care of him. He called his boss and told him he'd be doing an extended stay, and started to tidy up the house.

Alfred certainly seemed unable to do that for himself. As Arthur cleaned, he saw that Alfred's glorified prison was small, the whole thing smaller than a cheap apartment.

The bathroom was perhaps 2 feet by 2 feet, barely large enough to sit in comfortably.

Alfred never left the house, but told Arthur he was free to do so.

Arthur left to get groceries for Alfred, and bought a little burner to cook things on. He gave Alfred his first decent meal a couple days later. It kind of looked like slop, but at least it wasn't microwave slop.

Alfred ate it, no complaints or even conversation.

When Alfred seemed to stop eating, Arthur told him to eat a little more. "It's bad if you starve yourself in here."

"Why?" He asked. "Why?" He repeated. "No...point..."

"Well, you need to be healthy," he said. "You know. If you ever want to get out of here."

"What's the point…" He argued. "No...chance..."

"That's just what you think," Arthur said. "But the ban is over, isn't it?"

Alfred nodded, looking sad. "But…still…trapped..."

"Well, you'll never be able to get free if you don't eat anything." Arthur picked up the spoon and brought it to Alfred's mouth.

He ate for as long as Arthur kept feeding him, not really paying attention to if he was full or nor.

Arthur had him eat all of what he made. Then he took the plate and went to go wash it.

Alfred lay down after that, and curled up on the couch. He fell asleep quickly.

Arthur saw he had fallen asleep there, and sighed a little. He gently picked him up - he was light enough to carry now, Arthur noticed, and it made him a little sad. Then he brought him to his room and put him down on the bed.

Alfred didn't move, quiet and mostly relaxed. On the bed, he just curled up and stopped moving.

Arthur half felt like lying down with him. But he left the room, turning off the light and closing the door.

Alfred got up the next morning, and didn't even change clothes, it seemed like…. and that was when Arthur noticed that Alfred was starting to smell.

Arthur grabbed him and took him to the bathroom. "You need to take a shower."

Alfred sighed. "Why…? I normally only do that once a year..."

Arthur crinkled up his nose. "Shower. Now."

Alfred was left in the bathroom, and waited there. He sat down. Normally, he showered because someone made him, and by that, they normally hosed him down. The bathroom didn't have a bath or shower.

Arthur stared at him. This was some kind of human rights violation. "Wait here," Arthur said, pissed. He left and came back an hour later with a large plastic tub big enough to hold Alfred, and began to fill it up.

Alfred had gone back to sleep at that point. He was curled up on the cold, concrete floor of the bathroom.

No wonder Alfred was like a zombie! He was being treated like...like shit!

Arthur gently tapped him to wake him up. "I'm going to give you a bath, alright?"

Alfred shrugged. "Alright." He agreed, sitting up. He prepared to be hosed down with ice-cold water.

When Arthur turned back to him, Alfred was all tensed up, his eyes shut tightly.

Arthur gently touched his arm, and Alfred felt Arthur's warm hands instead of the freezing water he was used to. "In the tub," he said. "The water's warm."

Alfred allowed Arthur to put him in the bath, vaguely curious as to why Arthur was bothering.

But the water was nice and hot, and Alfred decided he could get used to this. Arthur had bought the necessary items to clean Alfred with, and started to wash him down.

The tub soon became brown, revealing that Alfred was actually disgusting. He had looked tan...because they covered him in makeup he never wiped off. Alfred was white as a sheet, his hair dull and nearly colorless. His body was covered in scars; some of the fresher cuts were horribly infected... And the Limp he had was from a broken bone in his leg.

Alfred didn't seem to care.

Arthur continued to scrub him, and took him out between dumping the tub out and refilling it. It wasn't like he was unused to dirt and grime, but this was... inhumane.

He kept washing him until he was sure he had gotten all the dirt off.

Alfred was deathly pale. He was going grey in his hair. He stared blankly at the floor.

Arthur picked him up and clothed him again. "You need to get outside," he said. "Are you at least allowed to sit in the sun?"

He shook his head. "No…"

"Not allowed...outside..."

More pressing would probably be his mutilated leg.

Arthur sighed. "Then wait here. I'll go buy some things." He came back with vitamin supplements for Alfred, and some things to disinfect and dress his wounds. Alfred sighed softly. He curled up on the floor.

Arthur got him to sit up and started to disinfect everything. It burned badly, and Alfred's first reaction was to get away.

Alfred finally had life in him. He was upset and crying and begging Arthur to stop

Arthur gently reached out and held his hand. "I'm sorry, but if I don't do this it'll just cause you more trouble in the future." Alfred sobbed. He didn't calm down, but he did go quiet, accepting it. He stopped responding. Arthur continued, taking breaks in between so Alfred wouldn't be in too much pain, then bandaged him up.

Alfred was dull and lifeless, tears staining his cheeks.

When Arthur was done, Alfred felt the sensation of Arthur's lips on his cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Alfred didn't respond to that. He remained still and lifeless. Arthur picked him up and moved him back to his room. He felt kind of terrible about the whole thing, but knew that it was for Alfred's good.

Alfred's leg was still broken, but what could he do about that?

If it wasn't healing, then...Then that was...kind of a problem. Arthur decided to ask him. "Alfred, how long has your leg been broken?"

He didn't answer. Upon closer inspection, it had healed-badly. The leg would have to be broken again, then set properly.

At this point, a hospital trip wouldn't be unwarranted.

And so, that's what Arthur ended up doing.

Perhaps he would figure this out at some point or another.

Contact had been broken between them for so long at this point; Arthur was unsure if they could really work this out, but in the meantime, Arthur would hold Alfred's hand and reassure him that all would be alright.


End file.
